


What a Morning

by JuneLoveland



Category: Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day (2008)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 07:58:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8882614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuneLoveland/pseuds/JuneLoveland
Summary: A great day dawns.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dira Sudis (dsudis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, Dira Sudis! I hope that this small slice of fluff brings a little more sweetness to your holidays.

As was usual on fine mornings of late, the first thing Guinevere noticed as her consciousness trickled in was the scent of her lilacs, heaven. She’d taken to leaving the window open in the evenings for just that reason; no scent cheered her as thoroughly. But, most unlike those other fine mornings when lilac bloom alone seemed to carry her into wakefulness and persuade her to leave the cocoon of her warm bed, this one held enticing wisps of promise: the bite of anticipation, of reunion, in fact was gliding in along with that brisk lilac air. Her eyes opened. A glance to her right, and Joe was there, as she knew he would be, and Joe was asleep, as she knew he would be. A fond smile stole across her face as she watched the regular rise and fall of his chest. In his sleep, he was adorable, his face unclouded and serene, and Guinevere thought not for the first time how fortunate she was to see him thus, to know him thus, and to spend the morning with him.

These thoughts took her back to another morning: the last, in fact, that she had spent without him. That morning had also been the last time she had seen Delysia. A shadow crossed her brow as she recalled the scene. On that morning, all had seemed to be swept away. Position, adventure, friendship, romance. Even the old, half-eaten apple that was to have formed her breakfast had fallen to a broom. She had looked on with genuine affection and pride as Michael and Delysia drove off, each brimming with hope and joy at the uncertain future ahead of them, bubbling over with the conviction that together they two would bend New York to their joined will. And then she had turned away to think of her own uncertain future, that she alone must manage. She had made the long walk to the station thinking soberly of what was to come: another hour spent in line waiting for scraps. Another battle with Miss Holt, or someone just like her, and another posting with another hideous family taking care of another hideous child. Another lonely closet in the family’s home. Another war.

And then what came, was Joe. He had smiled at her, had taken her by the arm and offered her a meal.

He had seemed to her, in that moment, like a dream, and she hadn’t known if the fizziness in her head was more from her surprise at seeing him again, or from hunger that would soon be satisfied. But perhaps those were one and the same.

In this moment, though, he seemed to her as real as possible. The same warm, solid presence that had stood with her, huddled with her, shared her stubborn London pride as they rode out the last six years. She sat up, and she smiled softly at his snuffling, his usual attempts to burrow ever more deeply into her side at the slightest hint of her rising, but Guinevere knew that she must take action. There was little time for dawdling abed, not when the day held such promise. The old tricks were often the best, as she well knew, and so she flung back their blankets in a grand sweep, swiftly letting in the brisk April air.

The effect was immediate. Joe started, and then he blinked bleary, but cheerful eyes at her. “Good morning, my dear,” he said, most disarmingly complacent for one who should rightfully have been shocked awake. He propped himself up on an elbow, kissed her cheek, and made for her mouth. Ordinarily, Guinevere would have responded eagerly, no less surprised these many years since than she had been at first at the thrill his tender lips and his affectionate caresses gave her. But she was ever a woman who completed her mission, and so, gently, she pulled away.

“Come now, Joe. We’re to meet Delysia and Michael at ten, and we mustn’t be late. We’ll have no time to see her tonight, you know. She’ll be all taken up by photographers and reporters.”

He gave her an indulgent smile, one of his favorites. “And you, I am sure, will be taken up yourself by the proximity of so many film stars. I may even lose you in the night to Cary Grant.”

She melted slightly at the warmth in his tone. “He should be so lucky.” Little time for dawdling, but perhaps not no time. She brushed a bit of hair from his brow and kissed his cheek, lingering the slightest bit. But suddenly she remembered. “Now Joe, really. This is our first chance in years to see them, and I won’t keep them waiting.”

“Yet you are happy to keep me waiting?”

But Guinevere was already up, striding with purpose, off to the bath. She soon heard the ordinary sounds of his morning beginning, the rattling of his shaving things and the tinkling of the water jug, and felt free to proceed with her own toilette.

She smiled again as she thought of the frustrated pout he’d be wearing as he went on. It wasn’t often that she could resist an amorous Joe upon waking. But neither was it often, after all, that your best friend transformed into a real, live movie star. How it happened, she would probably never really know. Delysia, for all her frank delight in sharing news, would always be something of an embellisher, which was, of course, part of her charm. But Guinevere could piece enough together from the bits she’d had in letters – a smash at something called The Gilded Nail, a bid to the South Seas with the USO, and a chance meeting with Arthur Freed at a canteen – to land somewhere near the truth. And now she herself was to be an honored guest at a film premiere, as Delysia Lafosse stirred up the world. It was almost too thrilling to contemplate, which made Guinevere take a deep breath, and a steadying glance in the mirror as she tidied her hair.

She emerged to find Joe waiting, coat in hand, in the hall. Another smile when she saw him, and by her count the fifth of the morning. She seemed to have turned into a smiling woman, somehow. If she thought on it, she’d probably find the answer as to how, but now Joe had turned into the impatient one; he was never happy being kept from his food, and he was always as in tune with her hunger pangs as he was with his own. Ever gallant, even when hasty, he slid Guinevere gently into her coat, linked her arm in his, and bustled the pair of them out of the door, and down the road.

And so she was off. Another day with Delysia, and Guinevere was filled to the brim with joy at the prospect. The last one had brought her Joe, after all, and there was no telling what such an auspicious morning as this one had in store.


End file.
